


We Two Kings

by zjofierose



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: AU, Angst, Christmas, Crush, First Kiss, Fluff, High School, Humor, M/M, Miscommunication, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-03
Updated: 2011-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-15 09:13:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High schoolers Chris and Zach try really hard to get each other the perfect Christmas gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Two Kings

**Author's Note:**

> Giftee: Dinah, grammar_glamour  
> Beta: the delightful @emmessann  
> Summary: High schoolers Chris and Zach try really hard to get each other the perfect Christmas gift.  
> Note: written for trekrpfexchange 's secret santa. posted in feb. sorry guys, i just completely forgot about it...
> 
> Apologies to O. Henry.

It’s not that he’s nervous, Chris thinks. It’s just… well, ok.

Maybe a little bit nervous.

He runs a hand through his hair, rumpling it just enough to be cool in that rakish, devil-may-care sort of way. He hopes. It’s finally grown out from the brutally short cut his mom had him get right before the start of school, and now it’s… well, it’s supposed to be tousled, anyway. He resists the urge to go check it in the mirror.

Zach should be here any minute; he’d called and said he was on his way about fifteen minutes ago, and the walk isn’t that far.

Chris takes a quick survey of the living room. The Christmas tree is glowing, little bits of plastic lit up with electric current. His parents are out for the night at a party, and had just smiled at him when he’d asked if it was ok if Zach came over for a little while. His mother had looked at his father knowingly, and Chris had been suddenly furious. What did they know, anyway? It was a just a stupid… not-crush.

Because you don’t _have_ crushes on your best friend.

 You don’t.

Even if he _did_ kiss you that one time under the bleachers. Because he’d had too much to drink, and you know that, and so clearly it was just a case of opportunism.

\-- 

He and Zach have gotten each other presents for years, ever since they were ten years old and drew each other in the classroom Secret Santa. He smiles. That had been a great year. They hadn’t known each other, yet not really- Chris had just moved in from California, and was slow to make friends. Zach was the quiet kid in the corner with the too-short sweat pants and the sadly serious demeanor. Chris had liked him on sight, but the other kids kind of avoided him. His dad was dead, Chris knew, and he had missed a lot of school, had a hard time catching up. Chris didn’t know the details, but the other kids had moved on around him, without him.

When the teacher’s hand had come out with that slip of paper, Chris had worried and worried about giving this stranger a present, but when the time came to solemnly exchange their cheerfully wrapped boxes by the fake classroom tree, they ripped back paper to reveal identical gleaming red Transformers.

The rest, as they say, was history.

\-- 

Zach is running a little late, so Chris goes back into the kitchen and pours two glasses of eggnog, leaving an inch at the top of each glass. He’d always thought eggnog was disgusting; foul, rich stuff that tickled the back of his tongue. Then he’d discovered his parents’ bottle of dark rum in the back of the cabinet, and suddenly those parties from when he was a kid and all the adults got pink-cheeked and happy made a lot more sense. Eggnog was surprisingly more tolerable with a shot of rum in it, so he pours liberally, stirring the mixture with an iced-tea spoon, watching as the dark alcohol swirls into the cream.

He had a hard time deciding what to get Zach this Christmas- they’re a little older, now, and things have… changed. Not a lot. Just.. enough. It’s been kind of a rough year for Zach, and Chris doesn’t know all the details. Zach’s always been just a little more private than he is, even if he doesn’t show it. He clowns around, laughs a lot. Smiles big and signs up for the school plays, but trying to actually know anything about him is nearly impossible, even if you’re like Chris and snuck under his defenses when you were both still in footie pajamas.

They’ve been through everything together; bad grade school teachers, worse junior high haircuts. Awkward holiday dances, where the girls mass in great hordes of hairspray and giggles and the boys stand around hopelessly, hair slicked and sweaters striped, waiting for the bravest to break from the mass and ask each other to dance. He’ll never forget the sight of Zach slow dancing with Zoe, his too-big hands on her too-small waist, standing carefully as far from her as possible as they swayed silently under the rotating disco ball.

He’s not sure when he realized that Zach liked boys too. Or maybe more. There was the time when Zach had caught him digging under Zach’s mattress in search of some girlie mags and had stared at him like he was crazy. The time he caught Zach plucking his eyebrows (for the play, Zach had said, for the play. But he’s never stopped). The time he overheard some of the football guys catcall Zach for being a pretty little fag, and had watched in shock as Zach’s face went carefully blank before he laughed cheerfully at his taunters.

Chris doesn’t care, why should he? He likes girls plenty; loves them, actually. Their curves and their hair and their big eyes. Even the way they move in packs; never alone, never silent. He likes the swarm of them, the f+1/f motions of the sweet-smelling herd. They’re like alien creatures, like deep-sea fish who turn iridescent under black light, like exotic plants, all lurid tempting petals and deathly cloying stickiness. When Josie from the clarinet section let him put his hands under her shirt and feel her bra, all warm and silky, it was heaven.

But then… then Zach kissed him under the bleachers, apropos of nothing but his own spontaneity, his mouth all warm and tasting of beer and the joint they’d just finished, and well… he didn’t mind it. At all.  Zach was familiar, comfortable, and yet kissing him had been something entirely new, something electric sparking when he’d pressed back, sliding a tongue between Zach’s lips to lick the last of the cherry Ring-Pop taste from his mouth.

Zach had pulled away after a minute, his eyes glassy in the dim light, and hurried off muttering about curfew while absently licking his lips. They hadn’t mentioned it since.

\--

He’d thought long and hard about Zach’s present. They usually went simple; a book, a cd. But this year…

Chris wanted to get him something meaningful. He couldn’t get it out of his head. He wasn’t sure why it was so important, really; it’s not like finding just the right piece of plastic consumer merchandise was going to change anything for better or worse. But he couldn’t shake it. Something… meaningful, something he’d really like, something that would make Zach’s face light up like it hadn’t done properly in a while.

What did Zach really want?

It was a tough question. He wasn’t really into _stuff_ that much, actually, and what he liked, he pretty much already had. There were always book and cds, but those seemed lame somehow, and besides, that’s what Chris had gotten him for Christmas last year.

Theater. Theater was what Zach really liked these days, Chris thought, though he wasn’t sure he understood it. It was definitely Zach’s thing right now though, so maybe… but what could he do with that? Buy him a costume? That would never work. A movie? No, that was no better than a book or cd. Tickets? Now there was a thought. Tickets to what, though? Their town was small, and Zach was _in_ all the plays being put on right now anyway.

He’d flopped back onto his pillows, staring up at his glow-in-the-dark stars. Where could Zach see something really good, something that would really make him happy?

_New York_.

It was obvious, and Chris didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. New York was where Zach dreamed of; he’d get this idiot look on his face any time anyone so much as said the word “apple”. He’d never been, hell, neither had Chris, even though it wasn’t that far away. But this idea, it was golden. Tickets to something in New York, Zach would be over the _moon_. He grinned to himself, already picturing the look of delight on Zach’s face right before Zach threw his arms around Chris’ neck, pressing his skinny chest up against him…

There was a big problem, though, Chris realized with a sinking feeling: Money. Tickets to a play in New York couldn’t be cheap. And how was Zach going to get there? Neither of them had a car, and he was hardly going to tell Zach to get his mom to take him.

So. A round trip train pass and a ticket to some play. That was going to be… he did some quick mental math. At least a hundred bucks, even just for one ticket.

His heart sank. There was no way he could come up with that much so quickly. His very-part-time job at the movie theater only paid 5.35 an hour and it was already the end of November. He couldn’t ask his parents; they wouldn’t understand. He rolled over onto his pillow, face crumpling with the realization that this Best Idea Ever was doomed before it even began. Where on earth could he get that much money that quickly?

Then he saw it, the low light glinting off its polished curves.

His guitar.

He loved his guitar. His sister had handed it down to him several years ago; she’d gone through a chick rock phase, wearing dark purple lipstick and bleaching her hair, but then moved on, leaving her cherry red electric to gather dust. Chris had appropriated it around age twelve, when his face broke out and his taste in music changed, and she had officially given it to him for his birthday the following year.

But. There were other guitars. He had a job. It wouldn’t be that long until he could get it back if he pawned it, and if it was gone, then he could someday get another. He reached out to run a finger down the smooth grain of the neck. 

Yeah. That was what he’d do. He’d miss her, but it’d be more than worth it for the look on Zach’s face.

\-- 

It had been surprisingly easy, Chris thought. Pawn the guitar, walk out with more than enough. Run by the bank to deposit the cash in his small-but-functional bank account. Hop on the phone, buy an Amtrak ticket, round trip, leaving in the morning and coming home in the evening. Have to be a matinee, he decided, even if that was less cool- they were cheaper, and he couldn’t afford to include an over-night stay in the present. Oh, well.

He was agreeing to check-by-phone before he could change his mind.

\-- 

The doorbell rings, and Chris swears, spilling a splash of eggnog on his chin as he sets his glass down.

  _Zach_.

 He thunders down the stairs to the landing, flinging open the door to see Zach on the step, grinning and cold and holding a rather large box.

A rather large and heavy-looking box.

Chris is worried, suddenly. What on earth has Zach brought? His stomach sinks as he steps aside to let Zach in, closing the door behind his friend. Maybe the tickets weren’t such a good idea. Maybe it’s too much. Maybe…

“Hey. You coming?”

Zach is peering curiously over the railing at him from where he’s set the box near the tree. Chris shakes himself and hurries up the stairs- it’s too late to second guess now. He strides into the kitchen, picking up the glasses of nog and turning. Zach is suddenly right there, less than a foot away from him, his eyes dark in the dim light. 

“Hey, you’ve ummm, got a little something…”

Zach gestures vaguely at Chris’ chin before realizing that Chris has both hands full. He pauses for a split second, then wipes the pad of his thumb just below Chris’ lower lip, pulling back to suck the droplet off his skin, his eyes round as they meet Chris’. Chris feels the breath catch in his throat like a knot, his eyes stuck on the tip of Zach’s tongue as it moves across, and then moment is gone, Zach is moving away into the living room, all backlit lines and dark hair.

“So, umm…” Zach sounds strangely uncomfortable. He’s over at the far end of the couch, his body language closed. “Wanna do presents?”

 Chris sets the glasses on the coffee table, sitting down on the couch to look at his friend. The Christmas tree is providing the only light, and Chris realizes suddenly that his mom has left her Manheim Steamroller cd going on low, and feels suddenly like a total cornball. What was he thinking? Zach’s going to think he’s hitting on him or something ridiculous, and then…

“I got you kind of a different present this year.”

Zach’s voice startles him, and he turns to look at his friend. Zach still won’t meet his eyes; he’s twisting his fingers in his lap, his face lit with the tree’s unearthly glow.

Angelic, Chris thinks, then coughs, heat flushing his face.

“… but I thought it was something you would really like, so…”

Zach shoves himself off the couch in a flurry of motion, hefting the box and scurrying over to plop it in Chris’s lap. It’s very heavy, and very square, and Chris feels a burst of anticipation.

“Open it?”

Zach’s biting his lip, and Chris pushes back his reaction to that plump lip caught between teeth to tear open the paper of the package, pulling pieces aside to uncover…

“Oh my god. You got me an amp?” Chris can feel his eyes bugging. “A _Fender_ amp? Jesus, Zach, how on earth…” He runs a possessive hand over the lid before pulling open the cardboard to lift out the amp itself, all sleek metal and delicate knobs. It’s a thing of beauty, and he can only imagine how it will sound hooked up to his…

He remembers abruptly, lifting his head to see the pleased grin on Zach’s face, and thrusts the gift wrapped envelope at Zach’s chest before he can think too closely about what this means.

“Go get your guitar, let’s try it out!” Zach’s grin is all teeth, sharklike, but his eyes are warm and giddy, gleaming with excitement. Chris can’t decide whether to laugh or cry, so he just pushes the envelope at Zach again.

“Here. Open yours.”

His expression is slightly confused, but Zach takes the envelope, pulling off the big green stick-on bow and slitting the edge with his thumb. He dumps the contents into his hand, turning the pieces over as he frowns at them, reading the print.

Chris realizes he’s holding his breath, but cant’ do anything about it except clutch his fists into the fabric of his pants.

“You got me… what is this, Amtrak tickets? Why did you get me Amtrak…” He turns over the other piece of paper and his face explodes in shock. “Oh my god, Chris, oh my GOD. You got me theater tickets? In New York? _Chris_ …”

There’s the sound of paper fluttering to the floor and then Chris is hit full on with an armful of Zach, his skinny arms wrapping around as he presses his mouth to Chris’, his lips warm and soft. Chris pulls him in close, not even thinking, just responding, tilting his head to better lick the seam of Zach’s mouth. There’s a stuttered gasp, and then Zach’s mouth is open, his tongue winding with Chris’.

It’s different, Chris thinks; he can feel the light stubble on Zach’s cheek, and Zach’s shoulders are hard and firm against his. But it’s also perfect, the push and pull of their mouths together, the press of Zach’s hand hard at his waist. _This_ , he thinks, with the very small portion of his brain that is not caught in the scent of Zach’s hair and the play of the muscles in his forearms, _was totally worth it_.

Zach catches himself suddenly, pulling back with a look of embarrassment on his face, but Chris holds him still, dragging him down onto the couch to lie across his chest. Zach resists for a second, then relaxes with a decisive exhalation, snuggling his face into the crook of Chris’ neck. His nose is freezing, but Chris just smiles, tucking a hand around Zach’s ribs and sliding the other one to the nape of his neck.

“So, hey, you wanna go get your guitar? You could play a Christmas carol or something. _A la_ Jimi Hendrix and the Little Drummer Boy.”

Chris starts to laugh, the motion of his chest bouncing Zach’s head.

“What’s so funny?” Zach sounds vaguely offended.

“Zach…” Chris can’t help himself, he keeps laughing. “Zach, I pawned my guitar to get your tickets.”

Zach freezes, then tries to pull away. “You WHAT?”

“I pawned it. I wanted to get you something good, something you’d really like, really care about.” He pulls Zach back down to him.

“But… your guitar…”

“It’s ok. It’s just pawned. I can get it back in a few months. And then? This amp is going to be the motherfucking _bomb_.”

He can feel Zach’s smile against his chest.

“Besides, in the meantime, you can go to New York.”

Zach’s arms come tightly around him.

 “Yeah. About that.”

 Chris feels a stab of apprehension.

 “Yeah?”

 “I… got a job. Working weekends. I promised to work every weekend through January so they’d give me an advance to get your amp.” The words come out in a rush, muffled from Zach’s face’s location in Chris’ sweatshirt front. “But… I’m sure I can work something out.. I mean… they should be reasonable about that, right? Don’t you think?”

Chris starts to laugh again, his ribs shaking with mirth.

“Man. We outdid ourselves.” He can feel Zach start to chuckle too. “Yeah, I’m sure you can work something out. And I’ll get my guitar back. Or I’ll get a different one.” He laughs harder, stopping only when Zach lifts his head to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. He shifts carefully, pulling the throw blanket down over their legs, pushing Zach’s head down to his collar bone, smiling when Zach hmms in contentment.

“But for now… Merry Christmas, Zach.”

“Merry Christmas.” 


End file.
